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Out from the highway, through the dark came a truck, the back was open, filled with heavy bags. No one questioned it, the banner at the side of the truck and the smell from the back made it clear, the bags were full of coffee. The vehicle was headed towards a storage facility near the town, just a couple miles outside; it had come through the border, from the neighboring country, to deliver imported goodness to the coffee shops.

The night was darker outside of town; few lights graced the place, as the road was mainly deserted and the town was still far away. Few people, if any, lived there. This made things easier.

 Finally, the truck had arrived at its destination. It had kept a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow, so the trip had lasted only a few hours, though long enough to make legs cramp and feel slightly light. The driver stepped out and stretched. First the arms up top, then to the sides, also shaking the legs a bit. He looked at both sides. Just to make sure, he thought, not in any way a paranoid move. After his usual stretch-and-look ritual, he turned to the back of the truck, scratching his belly and lighting a cigarette.

The driver stared at the bags for a while, before he started lifting them from the truck and putting them on the floor. The dead weight of the bags took its toll on the driver, who was already worn-out from looking after them for so long. Maybe too long. In an effort to conceal his acts even more, he turned down the lights in the storage facility and made his way towards the freezers.

Slowly and quietly, the driver dragged each bag to the freezer, looking over his shoulder and being careful not to spill a thing. No one will know, he thought.

The last bag was especially difficult, and the sweaty driver’s last burst of energy was exhausted on it.

His family would never approve of this, he thought. Being highly devout to the catholic faith, they believed any easy escape from a life of hardship to be morally dubious. He imagined his wife explaining this to their children, and shuddered at the thought.

Upon opening the door of the freezer, and in his tired state having become careless, the driver tripped and allowed the bag to spill its contents on the floor, letting freshly toasted coffee beans roll all over the bodega. He bent down quickly to pick the beans up, as many as he could gather, and put them back hurriedly inside the bag, trying not to look inside. The last bag was neatly stacked away with the others, and the driver slowly stepped away, not daring to turn his back on them until he reached the doors.

His heart was racing; the hair on his arms was on ends. He knew what he was carrying, but he’d never seen it up close. Jumping at his own shadow he managed to get back into his truck. He picked up the radio, let them know it was delivered and promptly, the morose driver reached towards the Colt .45 in his right pocket, set the barrel underneath his chin, and pulled the trigger.